


And below the roaring sea

by theseatheseatheopensea



Category: Sir Patrick Spens (Traditional Ballad)
Genre: Fix-It of Sorts, Gen, Inspired by Music, Non-Linear Narrative, Sea imagery, Sentient Nature, Supernatural Elements, Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:47:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21943111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theseatheseatheopensea/pseuds/theseatheseatheopensea
Summary: And I am afraid, but I remember. I remember. I am afraid, but the sea will not let me come to any harm. The sea holds out its arms, and I am there. I am there, with the wind, in the sea, deep and beautiful and black as coal and dark as night. I am there.Sir Patrick Spens and the wind and the sea, after the shipwreck.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 11
Collections: Yuletide Madness 2019





	And below the roaring sea

**Author's Note:**

  * For [regshoe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/regshoe/gifts).



> The title is taken from one of the many versions of this lovely ballad! My favourite is probably Buffy Sainte-Marie's, by the way. Or maybe Ewan MacColl's. I can't choose one! ;)
> 
> Hi regshoe! I am weak for anything sea-related and couldn't stay away from this prompt! Happy holidays! <3

_They didn't find me._  
_They didn't find me?_  
_No. They didn't find me._  
_But it was known that the sixth moon ran away upstream,_  
_and that the sea remembered -suddenly!-_  
_the names of all its drowned._

\- Federico García Lorca: Fable and round of the three friends.

*

From times immemorial, they know I sleep here. My end has always been foreshadowed, but I do not mind. No, I do not mind. Here, in this island, the sea rocks me. The sea makes a bed for me. And I rest, in dreams of silk.

I never dream.

But sometimes, I wonder. Oh, but who was it? Who was it that spoke my name? But no, never mind. It is a secret whispered in the wind. It was meant to be. Yes. Better and stronger and sweeter than any wine, the sea is where I was always meant to be.

I walk in the sand, but I do not find myself in dry land. I do not find myself. So, I have read the letter. I have laughed and I have sighed and I have cried. I will answer. I will sail the ship.

Oh, my wind, oh my bonny boy. Go back, go back and tell him. Go and tell him this. I will go to the sea.

I will go, even though it is the dead of winter. It is the time of the terrible storms. But I do not mind. I comb the moon into my hair. I hear the sea. The sea, it is always there, always calling. How could I say no?

I sail on. I look out from the topmast. With the moon in my arms, I look out. In the darkness, I am not certain. Will this be the last voyage, or the first? If they ask me, I will not speak.

I will not lie.

And I am afraid, but I remember. I remember. I am afraid, but the sea will not let me come to any harm. The sea holds out its arms, and I am there. I am there, with the wind, in the sea, deep and beautiful and black as coal and dark as night. I am there.

And with salt in my eyes, I hear the music of the seagulls. I hear the music of the waves. The water drops are like silver bells, and I hear it, the music of the roaring sea. I hear the sea, and, for it, I will become the wind. I will become its song. My wind, my bonny boy. Come with me, and I will never come to the land again. Come with me. I will sail on, sail on. The sea will find me, and I will sail home.

On and on, the wind blows. The wind speaks, the wind says yes. And I say _mine_. And I remember. With the moon in my eyes, I kiss the green salt sea. I kiss the wind. How could I say no?


End file.
